


Faded roses

by Veelitann



Series: Beyong the Heart of Outer Space [5]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M, Prison Cell, Trowa POV, Vomit, gboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veelitann/pseuds/Veelitann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I thought I would be alone forever in this prison cell. I didn't intend to share it with anyone until I could get out. But they throw that guy in. I just couldn't stand that fucking Newtype." </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>[Trowa POV]</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yaaay, back again! This chapter took me a little longer to write but between time, work, lack of motivation and stuff...UH ! I hope that you'll like it, and this time I need a second chapter for this one ! ;D So stay by meeeeee !
> 
> As usual, tell me anything you want in comment, I love reading you all ! *danses*

**AC195**

"Are you ok?" I asked. 

The sound of his body thrown on the floor had me wince inwardly for him. The boy was coughing a little, but not asking for any help so I let him do as he wanted and didn't move a finger. I was used to the darkness of my cell, sitting in the corner of my weak small bed, and I quickly recognized _him_ as he rolled slowly on his back, probably trying to get his thoughts back together. I hadn't seen since the day he opened his cockpit. Since that night I had spent to that huge and rich house, full of Manganac men all devoted to him. 

"I'm a bit, uh... I don't know actually," he muttered. "Dazed I guess, let me a second..." 

His gaze was going everywhere in the cell, I would have rather said that he was completly lost. 

With a deep sigh, he sat on his bottom, rubbing his arms with a slow hand. At the first sight, I thought that Quatre Raberba Winner was dirty as hell, dark dust and probably mud stuck to his features, his hair, his clothes. He wasn't wearing the same clothes as the first and last time we met, changing his pink shirt and purple waistcoat to a simple white tank top. It was rather weird actually with the weather outside. It was a freezing month of December, and my own old pull-over wasn't enough to protect me from the cold in the cell. He shivered once, but quickly put his lips together, tightly. 

"Came for the same mission as me I guess?" I asked, half interested by his answer. He nodded quietly, his gaze finally resting on his laps, a thin smirk still lingering on his lips.  
"Hum, yeah," he added to the nod. "I guess OZ lost a huge amount of mobile suits again!" 

He laughed a little before coughing weirdly, and I had to wonder if he as really fine. But I didn't move, letting him take his marks in the cell. He first winced when he stood up, winced again when he stepped, winced even more when he reached the second faux bed, sitting on the fragile metal frame. 

"Did they hurt you?" Even if I had been as neutral as I had always been, his eyes flicked to me. It didn't even last for a second and he almost immediatly transfered his attention to the wall in front of him. 

"Just a little," he murmured. 

I didn't really like Quatre Raberba Winner. 

So I didn't care so much about his answers, even if I couldn't get why I was trying to keep the discussion on. There was something. Something with him was pretty annoying me and somehow his answers weren't what I was expecting. It was frustrating, like that day in his huge house, when I wasn't allowed to know what was happening to him in the middle of the night. 

"But I did the mission," he suddenly added. I gave him a look, and his genuine smile abruptly hit me. 

Or maybe it was because of the violent light from the corridor when a soldier opened the door. The white ray blinded us for a few second, but soon the figure in the opening of the door darkened it and I blinked, trying to discern who was here. 

"Fourth pilot, you're coming," a slow voice said. 

I didn't talk, letting my gaze slide to Quatre who was silent. I watched his thin body unfold and leave the bed without a word, his expression as neutral as...Mine. It was like watching the weirdest thing ever, even if we had the same orders in such a situation. 

But, you know, there was something even more terrible than looking at his lack of feelings. 

Quatre Raberba Winner's face was half covered with dried blood. The commissure of his lips, his round cheekbone, the corner of his eye. 

His neck. 

His collarbone. 

It was like it had splashed on his skin at many times. Eye. Cheek. Mouth. Three times. Did he kill? Did he stab someone so violently that their blood skipped to his face? _Did Quatre stab someone?_ I couldn't picture that boy with a knife or something in his hands. Not even a gun by the way. 

But I couldn't picture Quatre driving a Gundam and he was probably better than me at it: he succeeded in the mission I had failed. 

I swallowed deeply before I could take it back. His hand resting nonchalantly on his other arm fell by his side and I couldn't help but give a look again. But this time, I wasn't able to say if it was his blood or not. 

The cuffs claped around his wrist as they were taking him outside of the cell. 

Quatre had given me a short look, his lips tightening in a thin line before they left. 

I shouldn't have let them take him, I knew it. But I couldn't do anything else, right? After all, it was him or me. What a choice! 

I sighed, looking at his bed. He had left an amount of dirt on the sheets, and it took me a few minutes before I come closer and accept the fact that I was rubbing some half coagulated blood. 

_Shit._

I sighed at the idea of one of us, Gundam pilots, injured. It wasn't easy to go through a questioning from the Alliance or OZ when you're healthy like me - I had a few buises on the first days after being caught, but at the moment the only injuries I had on my body were from the soldiers while hey were trying to get something from me - so I couldn't imagine if Quatre was already injured. Would they beat him using his weakness? They could do it, and we knew that perfectly. Would he, Quatre, take it? 

I moved a little, walking to the door. The small hatch was closed so I couldn't give a look in the corridor. They might be far from the cells for the questioning so I couldn't hear them either. 

The silence overwhelming me at that moment was scary somehow. I didn't hear anything. No voice. No footstep. Were the guardians away? 

The waiting was pretty long according to me , and when the opened the door again, I was lying down on my bed, like I was befre they throw Quatre in the cell earlier in the day. The did the same, his messy body meeting the floor violently. Even after they close the door, he still wasn't moving. 

Was he dead or something? 

"Hey," I called. 

He didn't react - actually I wasn't really expecting him to, only his voice would have been enough to know if he was ok. Sitting on the adge of the bed, I leaned a little, but as I was to far from the boy, I walked to him. I didn't really hope that he was ok. Just, not dead would be enough. 

I thrummed the top of his shoulder with the tip of a finger, maybe as if he was an animal. I wasn't used to physical contacts, so I didn't feel confident. 

Plus, I didn't like Quatre Raberba Winner, the Newtype who piloted a Gundam. I hadn't forget that part about him, even if I had no real prooves of it. I hated Newtypes. What did the doctors think by sending a fucking Newtype on Earth to save the world, really? 

"Hey!" I called louder. 

I felt his muscles tense under my finger, and I immediatly relaxed. He was alive. 

"Can move?" 

I heard him breath out. I couldn't see his face so well, his body turned on the side was such a mess between the blood, bruises, dirty clothes, his limbs upside down after they left him on the floor. He coughed a little, then a little more and for a second I thought he was about to puke. Taking him suddenly by the shoulders, I forced him in a sitting position, kneeling by his side as he was trying to reach his own mouth with his hand, probably to cover it as some blood was spilled on his laps and floor. 

"They didn't go easy," I sighed. 

He nodded slowly, finally only sweeping his bottom lips with the back of his hand. "Yeah, they felt better after hitting a weak person...I guess." 

I took the 'I guess' he added, but this time I choosed not to give a fuck to that subect. "Something's broken?" 

He winced hard but silently when I started palpating his arms, legs, but when my hand landed on his upper body he almost screamed and beat my hands off. 

"Hey hey," I growled. "How grateful, I'm trying to help you." 

"S-sorry," he murmured. Under the blood on his cheek, his skin was slightly red due to the shame of his own reaction. "Just, uh, it hurts..."

"How much?"  
He hesitated, lips tightening like when the soldier had been taking him with them. Resignation. And there, I knew that feeling of his, when you have to admit something you don't want to. Pain was for the weaks, not for soldiers. Obviously, Quatre knew it, or he had his own reasons to not want to say it out loud. 

"A lot?" I helped. After another hesitation, he nodded a little and I found him funny this time. That guy was just some rich kid trying to act like a big soldier. 

But all that blood on his body always made me wonder even more about him. His white tank top was rather clean, at least more than his so fashionable maroon trousers. I didn't remember the blood on it the first time they throwed him in the cell, so it had to be from his walk out. 

"Need something?" I offered. Even if he was a spoiled rich kid, a interrogatory was still a interrogatory. 

"Water...," he breathed. 

After making sure that he wouldn't fall back on the floor if I realease him, I quickly grabbed a bottle of water near the door. But when I reached him again, he hadn't made a move, except for his hand plated on his mouth again. 

"Want to puke?" 

He just expired as an answer, eyes shut and it was even a better answer than talking. 

"Guess I don't have the choice," I sighed, sliding an arm around his body to help him reach the old and disgusting toilet bowl, and he was almost there when I felt his stomach against my arm twitch like hell. "Oh man, hold on!" And his hand tightened around his own face, stronger, and I was sure it would leave red marks on his white skin. Amazing, don't puke on me, right? 

"I might know where they hit you," I said while watching him vomit in the dirty ceramic bowl. He hadn't even totally reached it that the mix of smell and view of how disgusting it was, had made him rush to it and fill it right away. Well, I couldn't say anything about it. It was stinky like hell, sticky, and everytime I had to pee or vomit or anything, I tried to avoid the moment I had to come close to that thing. We'd propably get sick by using it, by the way. The idea itself was making me nauseus. 

Quatre coughing through his nausea made me grimace quite a lot despite myself, the smell of the acid bile reaching my nostrils. The sound of his breathless respiration filled the air, his hands tense on the edge of the basin. A new wave was coming soon, I could get it by the looks on his face, by his clenched teeth, by the tears at the corner of his eyes and the way he was trying to breath. The effort, the tireness, the interrogatory, the fights earlier with his Gundam, all of this might have been too much to him. 

He wasn't a soldier, after all. 

I sighed, leaning on his back to reach his forehead with a hand and take his front hair back with my fingers. I felt his body jump a little but the new wave of vomit just took him too busy for something else than being surprise by my gesture. His forehead was sweaty under my palm when I smoothed the pale blond strands of hair back on his head. His skin was moist, and as I was pushing a little against his back with my upper legs I could feel a shiver along his spine. 

"Are you cold?" I asked. 

I was trying to talk despite the smell of both us -I was pretty sure that I would end smelling the same as him- but it was hard. Between my fingers, I felt Quatre's head move a little but I couldn't get if he was nodding or shaking. I realised a second later, when my other hand met the cold skin of one of his arms, goosebump appearing right away. 

Of course, he was cold. 

"Sorry," I murmured. 

He shrugged, in a way I couldn't really define. Like you don't care that I'm sorry? Like you don't care that I care? Like you forgive me for saying something stupid? 

His tank top showed his shoulder blades and I let my gaze run on it. The shape of his shoulders, his neck appearing under his short pale blond hair, everything I could get of him. 

"What happened, Quatre?" I kept my voice as low as possible, feeling like he could break under my words. There was something. 

Quatre Raberba Winner was puny. I mean, his body was undeveloped, skinny and probably sick. After the last two months, I didn't feel like I was watching the same Quatre than the first time, the one opening his cockpit to stop a useless fight. 

The one screaming at night. 

I stopped breathing at the memory, unsure of anything anymore about him. 

He coughed again, his arms suddenly tightening aroung his own body. I was pretty sure that if he hadn't been above the basin, he would have curled his body in a ball to keep the warm as much as possible. 

"They rejected us." His voice finally came out, low, almost a whisper. I leaned a little more on him, feeling his back tense against my chest, so I could hear him better. The smell of bile, vomit and alluvials was unsufferable and I felt my stomach convulse in disapproval and as a way to protect my nose I burried the low part of my face in the crook of his neck. His thin muscles instinctively contracted but he didn't step back nor tried to get rid of me. 

His neck smelt like a mix of salted sweat and perfum, the second was so old and almot gone that it took me some time to find what it was. 

"Our colony rejected us," he continued after he plit again in the basin.

"You?" I whispered against his skin. 

He nodded, his breathy voice coming out again. "Most of the dirigeants of L4 don't agree with the use of Gundams to bring the peace back..." 

I frowned a little. Something in what he was saying sounded weird in my ears. "But those dirigeants are..."

"The Winners." 

"They're your own family..." 

"They don't mind," he sighed. "We'll be pariah soon. They have a colony to protect, values to spread. They know what they do."

It was my turn to sigh at his words. I didn't like the way things where going. 

"And you?" 

I felt his shoulder fall a little under my weight, discontract so it gave more room for my face to hide in his neck. He inspired deeply. I felt his throat muscles move a little when he tried to swallow his saliva and I'm pretty sure that he winced due to the bitter taste behind his tongue. 

"I know what I have to do," he said wth a poor and scratchy voice.

I didn't know what to do. I could feel his devotion to his family in his voice and at the same time there was that will to fight for the world he wanted to bring to life. Like me. Like the three others. 

I didnt know what to do. I could hear the soft sniff coming from him when he was probably trying to hold it back. I could feel his heartbeats racing in his chest against mine. 

I didn't know wat to do, so I simply closed my arms around his shoulders and burried my whole face in his neck, breathing deeply. Inhaling his despair hadn't been one of my project and that idea kind of lingered for a while in a corner of my mind. 

Quatre Raberba Winner's neck smelt like faded roses.


	2. Faded Roses [Part Two]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That night, that cell._  
>  Being alone with that Newtype was the last thing I'd ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second chapter for "Faded Roses"! *3* I really hope you like it, I keep working on that serie with so much joy and all! As usual, comments and opinions are welcome!  
> Love on you all!

**[AC 195]**

"Gonna vomit-"

"Vomit or pee, but make a choice in the end." 

It wasn't the first time I heard Quatre complain and if I could understand him pretty well, it was also annoying at some point. It had been a few hours since he had joined me in the cell, and one of the thing we had to agree soon about was...The toilets and the privacy. The lavatory was in a dark corner of our cell, what most of the time saved us from the awful smell. Technically, I had no problem with someone watching me while I was doing what I had to do, I had been used to share weird rooms with other mercenaries who didn't really care if there was already someone in the toilets -and most of the time they actually didn't have the time to care. 

But Quatre Raberba Winner wasn't a mercenary. He wasn't even a soldier, and at the moment, he was even sick and injured. Thankfully OZ hadn't called for him a second time on this day, they didn't even care to call for me. 

And the smell of that corner was the worst thing we had ever known, for god's sake. I couldn't really put it on him after all. 

"Easy to say," I heard him mumble. The sound of the zip of his trousers let me know that he was _finally_ done. "How can you, uh, do this so easily, I wonder..."  
"I don't mind about my body so much," I sighed. "You're over conscious of people." 

Quatre Raberba Winner was a quiet boy. He let himself fall on the edge of his bed, shoulders down. "Probably," he agreed with me. "I'm not used to this..."

"That's some weakness of yours. Go over it. Smell and people watching you when you pee." 

I didn't give him the time to get red and hide his face; laying on my bed, I closed my eyes, trying to convince myself that under this thin blancket I wasn't cold. I wasn't cold at all. My dark pull-over wasn't thin as hell. I-

I cracked an eye open to give Quatre a look when I heard the sound of his matress yelling under the weight of his body. His tank top couldn't hide the way his skin had started showing his shoulders off and I remembered the feeling when he was between my arms earlier. He wasn't a skeleton, thanks god, or he wouldn't be able to fight. But if his health wasn't in danger at the moment, it was just a question of time. Injured the way he was, Quatre wouldn't be able to fight back if something had to happen. That was certainly the reason why they got him, by the way. 

His back was facing me from under the poor brown blancket. Even in the dark I could see the shape of his body, the way he was trying so hard not to turn into a ball to protect himself from the outside, from the feeling of the cell, from the cold, from the silence surrounding both us. 

His breath was almost shivery when I was listening to it, but I didn't mind too much. It had nothing to see with me. 

"You said you completed the mission." 

My own voice made me wince, but the body not so far finally moved, his face turning to my side. I knew that two huge oean eyes were trying to watch me in the dark. Strands of hair were falling on his face hiding a part of his cheek. 

"I did." 

"But they got you." 

"Uh, yeah...I figured...I figured that I could get some informations fom the inside here, so I-"

"Where you alone?" 

"Hum, yeah. Destroying twenty mobile suits didn't need more than just my Gundam for this mission."

His voice was slow compare with usually. He was tired, I couldhear it. After another chat for a few minutes, I finally got what had happened. Quatre had undergone the mission pretty well : destruction of OZ's mobile suits, as usual, where I myself had failed due to a certain lack of munitions. But he'd wanted to over work a little, entering the military base with some curiosity. I wasn't so surprised that they got him. Not even wondering how he ended with so many injuries. The smell of blood emanating from his body had reached my bed already. But we couldn't help. They wouldn't cure him, of course, or they would have done it already. 

In the end, we were silent again. I figured that the guy needed to rest, and I needed the same or kind of. I wasn't one to talk a lot, of course. But at the moment thissience sounded like the weirdest thing ever. Maybe because I was with Quatre? I couldn't understand him pretty well, and not being able to know what he really was something really frustrating. 

"Are you ok?" I finally asked. 

"I want to vomit again. But I'm ok I gues." 

"Did they hit you that bad?"

"Uh, probably."

"Rachid's gonna reprimand you," I laughed a little at the idea of the giant Maganac scolding at Quatre, fists on his hips. 

Quatre huffed softly. "God, I'm not so impatient to see him then." 

It made me raise an eyebrow despite myself. "Wait, are you joking?" 

"What about?"

"Reprimanding like a baby."

His light laughter at that moment made a long shiver go along my spine, and he turned on his back. "He's like a father with me. I let it to your imagination." 

The bitter tone of his voice kept me from saying something else about this subject. I didn't know so much about family and all that. I didn't know at all, actually, and I didn't intend to shittalk about such a thing I didn't care about in the first place. 

"You need to sleep," I finally said. 

"You're right." 

We didn't talk much more after that, silence rising again. Honestly, I was exhausted. Being interrogating wasn't resting at all, plus staying here with the stress and frustration for not being able to do anything didn't help. 

I was cold, again, and for a second I wondered how Quatre was going through this little problem. 

Then I stopped thinking about him and his body next to me. I just fell asleep, not so deeply but asleep nonetheless. 

But...

Do you know what? 

I think that sleeping not so far fom Quatre Raberba Winner isn't possible. 

At first, I didn't really get what was happening. Something was troubling my sleep, for sure, but I wasn't sure what. I wasn't even dreaing or anything. Nor having any nightmare for once. 

Something was happening, yeah. There was a sound. A voice. Well, not a voice really. I was still half asleep, trying to get my thoughts back together, until I remembered that I wasn't alone. It was still as dark as usual here, without even a small window. 

The soft panting next to me eventually reached my ears pretty soon, making me stop trying to drowse back and hold my own breath for a few seconds. It was _him_ , of course, so close to my so-called bed. 

I tried to ignore him at first, act like I didn't notice anything. There was the sound of his body moving under the blancket, the sound of his chaotic breath. I first thought about something rather pervert, I have to admit it, and the idea of having Quatre Raberba Winner masturbating next to me was quite weird, let me tell you. Weird wasn't even the word. I couldn't describe that feeling, when I had that first idea in mind. 

But the soft throated sob that followed right after didn't match pretty well with such a thing and I immediatly turned to face him. 

"Quatre?" I called. I didn't raise my voice, aware that sometimes, guys like him may just talk in their sleep or so. I hoped that it was just a nightmare, something like that.  
He was facing me, I could picture the shape of his trembling body, I could almost discern his face in the dark. 

I could see the way his eyebrows tightly frowned, eyes opened wide. His mouth half opened, as if he was desperatly seeking for air. Laying on his side, he only showed that part of his face covered with blood. 

Fuck. 

"Hey, hey, what is it?" I tried again. 

I couldn't sleep with something like that by my side. I would rather prefer having him quietly polish his dick. 

He didn't reply and it was annoying me. Again. So I stood up, walked the small distance between the two beds -not even a meter- and kneeled to be the same height than his face.  
"Quatre?" I sighed this time. 

My voice was probably more audible this time as I was closer to him; he jumped, with a soft gasp, mouth opening and closing quickly. Eyes even wider now. I saw one of his hands rolled into a fist on his collarbones, pushing hard on his skin. In the dark I couldn't see the colors clearly but I was pretty sure that it was reddening his pale, white tone of skin. 

"I-" He started something, but never was able to continue his sentence. 

Was he really trying to say something, I still wonder. 

He just wasn't able to properly breath at the moment, and the expression on his face, the way he was trembling so hard, the way his eyes were avoiding me right now, I knew.  
He was panicking. 

Soon, I knew his hard breathing was more a problem due to hyperventilating. Fuck it. 

"Hey, come on, what's going on?" I restrained myself from yelling at him, simply hissing between my teeth while pulling on the thin blancket covering his body. 

I knew pretty well what was happening, of course. But I also knew that type of problem, anxiety attacks were not something to take with violence and mockery. 

His knees up to his chest, Quatre didn't protest when I sat on the edge of his bed. He was avoiding me. I could see, I could _feel_ his shame as I had found him this way.  
He probably could see through me, probably already knew what I thought about it and get why I was talking that slow. I assumed, at least.

 _Fucking Newtype_. 

"I have a story," I murmured. I knew anyway those moments when you can't help and you mind and body don't match together anymore and you don't know if you're going to die or something. I knew that feeling, when you're alone in the dark, lost, scared. 

What answered to me was that panting and heavy breath of his. He blinked a little, trying to avoid my hands when I cupped his head to set his on my knees. 

I sighed. 

His hand had automatically clenched on the fabric of my trousers. I just hoped it wouldn't ruin it. 

"I'm not sure if I can start with 'once upon a time'," I mumbled, more for myself than for him after all, but still here I was, speaking slowly with a low voice. I wasn't sure if there were soldiers behind the metal door, but if so, I didn't really want them to hear what was happening here. 

I doubted that Quatre would appreciate. 

I hated the sound of his breathing. 

It attacked my ears, made me want to tear it off my head's sides. I knew that pain pretty well. 

"But there was that boy. You know, he didn't have a name, not even a story. Well, he had nothing, if I had to say..."

If it wasn't for the sound emanating from him, I noticed how quiet was Quatre. He didn't move, except for his body trembling like hell. I coud feel the cold of his fingers through my jeans. 

I leaned a little above him, took the blancket and pulled it back on his body. 

"But someone found him. It probably wasn't the best thing in the world, but still, he had a place to live at...It wasn't so bad. Cold and silent and noisy at the same time." 

The strands of hair falling on his face were coated with sweat and blood, and I found myself trying to untangle the dirty blond hair I could get in view. 

"There were a lot of mercenaries, they taught him everything he needed to know. He worked a lot to be trustable enough and so he could work with them as soon as possible..." 

"W-what for?"

Quatre's voice was so low I almost had to lean on him to hear his words. His breathy voice hit me somehow. I leaned anyway, choose to whisper instead of speaking loudly. According to the situations, I knew it could be better, a way to securise his mind. The stress of all that, the place, his unabilities, the pain, the cell, the smell, the fact that we were together in this dark room, the cold, everything was here to make him panic and loose his means. 

I knew it. 

"To live," I murmured. 

I heard the small sound when he manage to swallow. I could almost picture the heavy lump deep in his throat. 

I leaned a little more, using my flexibility as much as I could until I was able to feel his febrile breathing on my face. 

"He had to learn how to kill, how to use himself as a tool to complete missions like others do," I continued ith a low voice. 

Blue. Green. I couldn't define his eyes color at that moment. Sometimes, he was staring at me. Probably staring at my lips while I was talking. It was disturbing. Sometimes, he was avoiding my gaze, like right now when I was trying to look at him, to know if he was feeling better. The sound of his breathing was still worrying to me. 

"But do you know what was weird?" I heard myself sigh. He'd clenched his teeth for so long now, trying so hard to control himself. "He was alone. No matter how many people were around him, he was alone with himself. It was scary." 

I didn't care that much about what I was actually saying. It was a part of my story and I didn't mind so much. If I could use it to make him focus on something else than his own condition at the moment, it was ok. 

"Didn't you have...Someone to talk with?" he suddenly whispered. 

I first tightened my lips hard. Fuck you, Quatre. 

I noticed that one of my hands had moved to his chest to hold him better when I felt his heart started beating so hard right after his question and everything at the moment finally sounded weird. I don't even know why. Maybe because of our proximity, maybe because of the way I was angled above his body. 

I shrugged a little. "Once. But she was a spy and betrayed us all. Me in the first place, by the way." 

He remained silent, what wasn't his habit, I was sure. 

Despite the darkness, Quatre looked a little less pale, for his voice being still hoarse. 

"But he-" I frowned a little, then restart my sentence. "But I grew up and learnt how to get stronger and stronger, even alone. It wasn't easy, of course. Maybe things would have been so much better if someone had been by my side, of course. But everytime I wasn't alone, something awful had to happen, mostly due to that said person. Traitors, spies, murderers..." I shrugged again when I felt a shiver going alone his body under my hand. It probably was hard for him to hear those kind of things. Quatre came from a rich family, with father and mother, probably sisters if I remembered well what I knew about the so famous Winners. "There's a time when you have to understand that being alone is the best for you." 

I was talking a lot, what was unusual, but it seemed to be working at least. 

His gaze at that moment was something I wouldn't forget. Even in the dark, his green apples suddenly stared at me, with parted lips and-

I blinked. 

Green. Green? His eyes never were really green until that moment. Quatre had blue eyes, like the ocean, that type of blue you can wonder for hours if it's going to turn green someday but it never does. 

I wasn't stupid. 

But for a few minutes, I had forgotten who I was talking to and somehow, it drove me mad. Mad at myself for being so carefree in such a situation. Quatre was a Newtype. 

Quatre could be an enemy at any moment. 

I was comforting a stranger, a potential enemy. 

I abruptly covered his eyes with my hand, suddenly feeling frustrated by the situation, and the surprised sound he made while gripping my fingers didn't help. "T-Trowa...!" 

_Stop whining like that, you're pathetic._

But I couldn't go back. 

"I Just want to say that you're not alone. You have a family, probably friends. Disowning you is just a way they have to show that they don't agree with you. They'll come back." 

I was too nice. And it was annoying me so much. 

There was a long silence after that. He didn't move, and so I did, staying in the same position. I coud feel his eyelashes flap softly under my palm. The sound of his breathing, almost slow and calm, was soothing now. 

There were just those soft sobs, and wet tears against my skin. 

"Not alone, uh...?" He repeated. His usual clear voice sounded a little scratchy, he sniffed a little to refrain himself from crying. In vain, of course, he was already crying like a baby. 

I sighed, taking the small distance until my forehead touched his. His skin was so cold. 

"Nh," I just said. His desperated voice was something terrible and resonated in my ears, his sobs were even worse. 

I inspired for a second, the light fragrance of roses hitting my nostrils, and I swallowed. 

I used to like roses so much. 

"Ah," I added after a moment as Quatre was shivering again. "How comes you don't have more clothes on you?" 

"They took it with my guns and all when they asked me to take them off." 

I blinked, trying to picture the scene. "Eh?" 

"They thought I had weapons or something under, maybe...i'm not sure." 

"Really?"

"I guess?" 

His fingers on mine weren't trying to take my hand off his face anymore, just resting skin against skin. 

I couldn't move. 

It probably was one of his Newtype abilities. 

At least, I hoped it was something like that. 

I sighed, hesitating. Somehow, what he'd just said wasn't benign and I had quite the images of pervert soldiers in my mind, looking at him while he was half undressing, covered with blood and sweat, his mind all dizzy from the battle. 

Disgusting. 

"Trowa...?" 

"Wait a second." 

I squirmed as much as possible, taking my hands off his face and body to pull as quick as possible on my own pull-over. I didn't want this to last forever, I didn't want him to stare at me with so big eyes for too long. 

Right after I manage to exit my head from the turtle neck, I spread it on his upper body, ignoring his weak protestings. 

"Sorry, it stinks. But it's a bit warmer than your blanket," I mumbled. 

My hands were back on place, the first on his eyes to half cover his face and hide myself from his view, the other one on him, seeking for his heartbeat against the tip of my fingers. 

His hands reached for my hand on his face. I could feel the hot skin of his cheeks under my palm, but I only sighed. 

It was annoying. 

"It...It's ok," he breathed. "Sorry, I'm dirty..." 

"You should sleep, or perverts migh abuse you easily soon." 

"Eh!?" he almost jumped at it, even if not really moving, and well, it was funny. 

"Nothing. Rest." 

I'm pretty sure that I had use all my word quota of the year in just one night because of him. 

I inspired deeply, not sure about what I was going to do in the next hours. I'd leaned back above him to feel the heat of his body, shivering under the cold air of the cell on my skin. Next time, I would have to buy not only a new big pull-over but also a top to put under, just in case. 

"Trowa?" 

Why was he still talking? I sighed. "Mh?" 

There was that mix of blood, sweat and his scent. 

"You're...Not alone...You know?" 

"Sleep." 

I liked Quatre's smell. Even when it was much more like dead roses in the end of the day. 

Roses were roses.


End file.
